


Acid in His Veins

by Just_Another_Day



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Sexual Abuse, M/M, Pain, Time Skips, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-27 21:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17170010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Another_Day/pseuds/Just_Another_Day
Summary: It would have been simpler if Laurent and Auguste could have just been matched together as soulmates the way they both would have preferred. Instead…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moridad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moridad/gifts).



> This is my Capri Secret Santa fic for [asuraaa](http://asuraaa.tumblr.com/). The first part is from Auguste's PoV, while the second will be from Laurent's PoV. The second part will be out on the weekend.
> 
> It's a soulmates AU where you feel an echo of whatever physical pain your soulmate is experiencing. In case the word 'pain' doesn't sufficiently give away my intentions, let me make it clear that you shouldn't come into this expecting fluffy 'we're perfect for each other and everything is grand' feels. Heed the tags. Also, for the purposes of this fic, fate is not an absolute when it comes to soulmates. Think of it this way: soulmates are destined to be ideal matches for each other, but they're not necessarily destined to actually meet and/or spend a happy life together. That's a matter of choice and circumstance.
> 
> Also, trigger warning for self-harm. It's done for practical rather than psychological reasons, but just in case.

"Does it still hurt much, darling?" Mother asked, concerned. 

"It's fine," Auguste lied. He did so badly, apparently, for Mother seemed unconvinced.

She reached out to him, comfortingly clasping his elbow just barely above where the ache seemed to be emanating. Auguste tensed, instinctively anticipating that the pressure of even the gentlest of his mother's touches would inevitably cause a sharp increase in pain. But the level was unchanging. Her touch had no ill effect. Of course it didn't. After all, Auguste reminded himself, the pain in his arm wasn't real. Or rather, it wasn't really _his_. It wasn't Auguste's arm that was broken, even though it felt exactly as though it was (or so he had to assume, since Auguste had no personal experience with fractured bones of his own).

Laurent, a bundle of energy as always, took their mother shifting him to a less secure one-armed hold so that she could reach for Auguste as a chance to make a concerted effort to launch himself from Mother's grasp. Auguste instinctively reached out to scoop Laurent up into his own arms so that his little brother wouldn't spill onto the ground and end up experiencing the pain of a broken bone right alongside Auguste. On the surface Laurent looked unbothered that his bid for freedom was rewarded only by Auguste holding him tightly to his own chest rather than getting to scurry off halfway across the palace before he could be caught, but Auguste could tell Laurent was annoyed nonetheless. Laurent still wasn't really talking much despite being definitely of an age for it – less because he couldn't speak than because he already got his way without often having to bother with it, Auguste suspected – but Auguste had never needed words to understand what Laurent was thinking, even when he'd been just weeks old and incapable of anything but crying.

Mother had commented that with such an immediate and close connection, her two boys might be each other's soulmates. She hadn't said it with much sincerity, probably because Auguste's lessons had suggested that the chances of soulmates being blood relatives were negligibly low. And yet instead of just laughing the prospect off, Auguste had privately thought to himself that he wouldn't mind that. It would have meant that at least Auguste would have maximum ability to prevent Laurent from ever experiencing unnecessary pain. But the fact that Auguste was currently wincing at the phantom throbbing sensation in his arm while meanwhile Laurent was showing no signs of even the slightest discomfort would seem to have put an end to any speculation of that kind. The source of Auguste's agony clearly wasn't Laurent. So Laurent couldn't be his soulmate. She or he was somewhere else out there, still waiting for Auguste to find them.

"Your father has arranged to send messengers out across the country to locate anyone with an injury that mirrors what you're feeling so they can be tested to see if they're your match," Mother said. 

"I know. He told me so too." Father might have called it childish, but Auguste still let his excitement shine through, for only Mother and Laurent were present to see it anyway. Auguste acknowledged, "It's a long shot, of course. There might be dozens of people with broken left arms in Vere right now. And that's if my match is in Vere's borders at all. But it's worth a try. Imagine: if the search is successful, I could know who my match is within the month."

Mother nodded, but absently. "Or you could always ask your father to call the search off. He might listen to you."

As far as Auguste had seen, Father didn't listen to hardly anyone, apart from maybe Uncle, once his mind was set on something. Auguste couldn't think why that would be a problem this time, though. He frowned. "Why would I want to do that?"

"It's sometimes better not to know these things." She let the words linger for a long moment (too long, Auguste thought), then added, "Until the Ceremony when you're eighteen, I mean. Isn't it better not to be unencumbered by knowing who you're supposed to spend your life with while you're so young? It's not as though you can do anything about it until then anyway, is it?"

Auguste wasn't so sure that that was what she'd meant to say initially, but he couldn't imagine what else she might have intended, so he let it rest.

"Is that when you found out about your match?" Auguste asked. "At Father's official Ceremony?"

Mother didn't answer. Her lips pursed strangely. It was the first time Auguste had noticed how visibly deep wrinkles formed around her mouth when it wasn't relaxed. People had whispered a few years earlier how the Queen might be too far on in years for childbirth. Mother had elegantly shrugged off her naysayers, and Auguste had tried to follow her example, pretending that nothing could possibly go wrong even though he'd actually been terrified right up until the moment that Laurent had been pressed into Auguste's arms while Mother tiredly watched her two boys together. But even though the gossip had made him unquestionably aware of it back then, it was only now that Auguste could himself see the signs of her age that had made people wonder about the risk in the first place. She looked somehow wearier today than that day when Laurent had come into their lives. At least then she'd been smiling.

It was clear she didn't want to talk about this any further, despite it being just about all Auguste himself wanted to talk about. It felt as though it would be a bad idea for Auguste to try and press her. Laurent provided a timely distraction by starting to squirm restlessly again, wordlessly expressing his displeasure at having his brother practically ignoring him even though he was holding him. It gave Auguste an excuse to divert his attention. He chose to lift Laurent up onto his shoulders instead of trying to address the unexpected awkwardness between himself and Mother, hoping it would just fade away. 

Laurent, for his part, seemed unaware of the strange tension. All he cared for (or should have to worry about) was playing. Obviously assuming Auguste was acting out the part of Laurent's 'pony', Laurent tugged on the braid Auguste had recently taken to keeping his hair in (so that Mother wouldn't be able to insist on cutting it fashionably short under the guise of keeping it manageable) like it was a set of reins. Auguste let himself be guided into a trot, which not-so-incidentally took him down the hall and away from Mother. It was a welcome distraction from both the persisting pain in Auguste's arm and Mother's lingering silence. Especially when Laurent cheered like having his brother play along with him was the best thing that had ever happened in his entire two and a half years of life so far.

Nearly two weeks later, there had been sufficient time since the onset of the pain and the start of the search Father had organised for any likely candidates from the villages and the great houses even as far south as Chasteigne or beyond to have been retrieved and brought to Arles. And yet there had been not a single person presented to Auguste for soulmate testing. Auguste hadn't wanted to get his hopes up too much that his soulmate would be accurately identified by all of this, but the absence of any even distantly possible matches at all was unexpected, and somewhat vexing.

The pain had been starting to get better, but it still was worse at some intervals than others, as if the source of the pain were being occasionally aggravated through either purposeful use or thoughtless negligence. It was one thing for Auguste to have to grit his teeth while his arm started throbbing anew for a short period, though, and quite another for it to feel like he'd been freshly injured. And the site of the injury didn't even feel like it was his arm, but rather his chest. The pain was blinding for what seemed like at least ten minutes, but was probably a fraction of that time. Auguste couldn't be certain that he didn't shout out, but he vaguely recalled that he was sitting at a crowded table, so he thought surely someone would have come to his side if he had.

Then the pain in his chest abruptly stopped. As did the pain in his arm. It all just vanished abruptly, from one moment to the next. It was so surprising that Auguste dropped his dinner fork where it had been hovering in front of his mouth when the chest pain had hit. Auguste ignored the stain the dropped food left on his jacket in favour of looking down at his suddenly pain-free arm as though the limb were something foreign to him. Even putting the chest pain aside, although Father's physician hadn't been able to tell him how long it would take for his arm to stop hurting entirely without knowing exactly how bad his soulmate's injury had really been, regardless of duration it should have been a gradual shift, not this instant nothingness.

"It shouldn't have just stopped like that, should it?" Auguste asked after he explained to his family what had happened. Worry was seeping into his voice. "I don't understand."

"Don't you?" Uncle said from where he was listening in a few places down at the table. He didn't elaborate. Father and Mother shared some meaningful look that Auguste couldn't entirely decipher. Neither of them said a word, even when Auguste came close to begging.

Auguste found Uncle after dinner, "What did you mean earlier?" he asked. "You acted as though you knew something about why my soulmate's pain seemed to just stop like that."

"So would you, if you weren't in denial." Uncle shook his head. "You're such a sweet boy. Too sweet to see the obvious, apparently." It was said almost pityingly, and certainly condescendingly.

Auguste disliked it when Uncle talked down to him like he was still a child, which he almost always did. Auguste would be fifteen soon enough. It was about time Uncle started talking to him like a man. 

"My soulmate isn't _dead_ ," Auguste insisted, for that was clearly what Uncle had to be implying. Could that even happen? Could someone be your match if you never had the opportunity to even meet them? Wasn't it supposed to be fated? "It was just a broken arm. People don't die of a broken arm. Not weeks later when it was starting to heal."

"It's certainly unusual for a broken arm to get someone killed," Uncle acknowledged. 

There was something peculiar about the phrasing of that. It jangled Auguste's nerves unpleasantly. "Say what you actually mean," Auguste demanded.

Auguste half-expected for Uncle to refuse, as much because he probably didn't appreciate being ordered around by his fourteen-year-old nephew as because Uncle hated to talk plainly when he could communicate by veiled implication instead. For once, though, Uncle let all that slide, saying, "Obviously I'm not suggesting your match died of a non-life-threatening injury. But you didn't think your father would chance you taking some commoner as your Queen just because she might by some twist of fate have been your soulmate, did you? Why else would he have invested all these resources into tracking down your match despite you being too young to do anything with that information, if not to give himself the opportunity to eliminate a potential problem before you were even aware of it? Much like our own father wasn't about to let some farmer's daughter get in the way of cementing the alliance with Kempt, soulmate or no soulmate."

That was so unexpected that no words came out, as if Auguste had been shocked into silence, regardless of how much Auguste wanted to jump to Father's defence and respond with vehement denial. If his soulmate was someone of lower birth, wasn't that connection more important than marrying for some political alliance? And soulmates were supposed to be ideal matches for each other. Surely that meant that the soulmate of a future king would be someone who was far more likely to help his reign than to hurt it. But even if Father didn't agree with that assessment, surely he still wouldn't have done anything like what Uncle was suggesting. Father was a good man, Auguste reminded himself (somewhat forcibly), and a good King. Auguste had never even met his grandfather, so he couldn't speak for _him_ , but surely Father wasn't like that. He would never have any of his subjects murdered over something like that.

But if that really were the case, then why had the search inexplicably failed to turn up anyone at all? 

Auguste felt cold all over, and it had nothing to do with the late autumn chill that was starting to set in inside the palace.

That icy numbness persisted for a week. Auguste tried to wait it out, hoping that at any moment there might be some small flare of sensation with no physical explanation that would suggest that Auguste's soulmate was still alive and still capable of feeling.

It never came.

He had to accept it eventually.

"There's still no sign of my match?" Auguste finally found the courage to ask Father.

Father barely reacted to the question. "I'm told there's no one, even though word has gone as far as the southern-most border and back. But we can hardly take it as a terrible thing that our population is apparently remarkably unplagued by injury."

Well, when Father put it that way, Auguste imagined it would seem ridiculously petty for him to continue asking, even discreetly. It would probably come off like he was complaining that there were no beautiful girls about his age with painfully fractured bones for Auguste to scope out as potential matches, rather than his concern that something terrible might have prevented such a person from being found. Or found by _Auguste_ , at least.

"I wouldn't worry too much," Father said. "If you don't meet your match until later, it hardly matters. That's what the Ceremony on your eighteenth nameday is for."

If it didn't matter, Auguste thought, then why pay messengers to go out searching in the first place? Auguste hadn't been the one to suggest the search; Father had. He'd seemed to think it important at the time. Auguste wondered what might have changed his tune. 

Was it just that Father didn't want to exacerbate Auguste's worry by finding confirmation of what Auguste already suspected about his soulmate's fate? Or was it that Father had accomplished what he'd set out to do with the search and now was just going through the motions?

What if what Uncle had suggested really were true? The more Auguste thought about it, the more horribly plausible it seemed. Father would probably be honest if Auguste asked outright, but should he really do so? Could Auguste continue as they had been, knowing for sure Auguste's potential future had been wiped away on Father's knowing order? That Father was capable of doing something like that at all, let alone to his own son and to the person who should have been his son's soul's match? 

Auguste told himself that he ultimately maintained his silence on the matter because he was dedicated to being a dutiful son. Because the alternative wasn't something he preferred to think too closely about. 

*

"You don't seem excited," Laurent pointed out. 

Auguste forced a smile. "Of course I am. It's a celebration. Unlike some people who try to hide in the library or out near the stables every time there's a gathering of more than twenty people anywhere in the palace, I actually do enjoy parties. Especially when it's for my own nameday."

Not that Laurent could probably have hidden away this time, no matter how claustrophobic he might be feeling with the palace halls absolutely teeming with people. There was simply nowhere to go. Auguste had had to send away his pets just so he could at least have his private apartments to himself as his sole bastion of alone time (or alone except for Laurent, who insisted on barging into Auguste's rooms whenever his little heart desired, and who Auguste didn't have the heart to kick out as he had done to his lovers). Even the library – which had become something of a haven for Auguste and Laurent even before Laurent first started properly learning to read the books himself a little over a year ago – had temporarily become yet another hub for groups of courtiers to meet with each other somewhat away from the noise and the bustle of the masses who were 'buzzing around the palace like annoying flies', as Laurent had recently put it. And the overcrowding didn't cease at the palace boundaries. According to the Captain of Auguste's brand-new Prince's Guard, even the streets outside were quickly building towards being packed to overflowing as well; those who couldn't fit inside the palace itself still wanted to feel like they were present on what they thought (or hoped) might prove to be an integral day for the future of the kingdom. 

In addition to seemingly half the kingdom being there, there were also dozens of representatives and prospects from other nations present. The Akielons were (unsurprisingly) entirely absent, but Kempt had sent candidates, as had Patras, and even a delegation of Vaskians had bothered to come. Auguste suspected the last was more to keep the Empress apprised of whether the Crown Prince of Vere found his match in some other nation that might lead to a stronger alliance for Vere than because the women in question hoped to be Auguste's match. They would probably consider being even a future Queen of a rival nation to be a downgrade in status, considering it would mean there was always going to be at least one man in a more powerful position than them. Vaskians preferred to be on top, Auguste was given to understand. Which Auguste was hardly opposed to, generally speaking, but it was a little more complicated in the political realm than in the bedroom.

Though it hardly mattered what their intentions were, Auguste knew, since he obviously wasn't going to find his match among them anyway.

Auguste had felt nothing at all from his soulmate in the three and a half years that had passed since the pain of someone else's broken arm had vanished from Auguste's perception without warning. Not the smallest indication of a bruise or scratch. Whatever vague hopes he'd been holding onto initially had long since faded. 

Laurent said, "I wasn't talking about the party. Who cares about that? We have one of those every couple of nights at this time of year. I meant the soulmate testing Ceremony. You don't seem to care much about finding your match finally."

Auguste swallowed heavily against the bad taste in his mouth. "There's a relatively high chance my soulmate won't be among those who were invited. I'm just keeping my expectations realistic so that I won't be disappointed."

It was technically the truth.

"I'm sure your soulmate is here." And Laurent certainly did sound sure. Exceptionally so. Why shouldn't he, Auguste supposed, when he had no reason to think otherwise. 

But no matter how much Auguste tried to explain that it wasn't a foregone conclusion, Laurent remained convinced that Auguste would be able to find his match in the palace that day. He had that stubborn set to his jaw that he always took on when he refused to eat anything but sweets at dinner. Like he was absolutely determined that no outcome except the one he wanted would take place. Auguste might have just written it off as Laurent being sweetly intent on Auguste finding happiness, but if that was all there was to it then Auguste could hardly imagine that Laurent would take it so _personally_.

Oh. Of course. 

Auguste could hardly imagine how he'd missed the obvious for so long, especially when Laurent mysteriously seemed to be looking forward to Auguste's Ceremony far more than Auguste was. Laurent was obviously hoping the two of them were each other's soulmates. It was a fair assumption, in the absence of key information. Auguste himself had entertained the same thought for a time. And he and Laurent had only grown closer since then, as Laurent had started to develop that independent personality of which Father seemed to despair, but which Auguste loved so well. Of course it would make sense to Laurent that his older brother, who was much closer to him than even Mother was most of the time, should be his match. He had no reason to know it wasn't possible, for Auguste had never told Laurent about what had most likely happened to Auguste's soulmate. He didn't know how to talk about such a thing with his six-year-old brother, who wouldn't understand. How could he when _Auguste_ barely understood?

Auguste wished the two of them could have been matched after all. Father would have had no reason to take matters into his own hands if Auguste's soulmate was a relationship that obviously wouldn't have stood in the way of a political match. And then Auguste could have just settled into whatever marriage Father would ultimately want to arrange for him without feeling as though he had missed out on something vital.

"I don't want you to get your hopes up," Auguste said, trying to let Laurent down as easily as possible. It's rare for soulmates to be platonic. I mean, for soulmates to not be like married couples." Like Mother and Father, Auguste almost said, but stopped himself. That wasn't the best example.

"I know what 'platonic' means," Laurent insisted stubbornly, though the way his tongue tripped slightly over the unfamiliar word belied his claim. "And it's not like we would know if we were. Neither of us ever get hurt enough to tell." It was issued like a complaint.

Auguste said wryly, "Try not to sound too disappointed about my continued well-being, or your own. Or that we haven't had the opportunity to cause each other serious pain, for that matter."

"But why would that be a bad thing? That's what it means to be soulmates, isn't it? To share each other's pain?" 

Put that way and coming straight from the mouth of a six-year-old boy, Auguste didn't know if it sounded poetic or disturbing. Or whether he should be relieved or heartbroken to have mostly missed out on it. He supposed that if there was one good thing about any of this, it was that at least Auguste knew that if he was ever really hurt, at least no one else would have to suffer for it.

"Don't you want to be my soulmate?" The plaintiveness of the question, as though Laurent might be on the verge of tears, caused an unsettled feeling in the vicinity of Auguste's gut. Apparently, they didn't need to be soulmates for him to risk hurting his little brother.

"I'd like that more than almost anything in the world," Auguste said candidly. "But it doesn't really matter whether we're soulmates or not, to be honest. We'll be an important part of each other's lives either way."

"You don't think Father will send me away to be married if it turns out my soulmate is some Patran princess whose dowry includes an army?" 

Auguste wasn't sure he wanted to think too deeply about Father's plans for Laurent in that respect, actually. Not when Laurent was surely too young for it to be relevant yet.

"Aren't you a little young to be worrying about marriage yet?" Auguste asked. "I wouldn't worry anyway; whoever it is, your soulmate can just come to you. You're my brother. That's a bond just as strong as any soulmate link, as far as I'm concerned. You're going to be by my side for the rest of our lives, if that's what you want."

Laurent seemed to think that over for a long moment, then nodded determinedly as if he found Auguste's terms acceptable. Then he asked thoughtfully. "But if it _isn't_ me, then what if you didn't find your soulmate at the Ceremony as you said? What happens then?"

What would happen when that occurred? Would Father pretend that the prospect of finding Auguste's match still remained, or would he already start to push for a political marriage instead?

Telling himself that it was so that Laurent understood what he himself would face in the future rather than in an intentional attempt to prevaricate, Auguste replied, "If someone's match isn't present at their Ceremony, or located even before that, then at least the Ceremony rules a lot of people who are considered to be potential matches out in one fell swoop. Sometimes you might do the test again with a different group of people gathered, particularly if your soulmate doesn't show up by the time you're in your late twenties or so. But the way I hear it, often people who don't find their match when they turn eighteen tend to eventually meet someone who seems so compatible that they suspect a match and get individually tested, or otherwise an obvious injury that matches someone's pain gives it away."

"That wouldn't happen on your end. No one's ever going to land a decent hit on you," Laurent said with absolute certainty.

Auguste ruffled Laurent's hair, to Laurent's very vocal protest. "See? What does it matter whether I'm your soulmate when you already have so much faith in me either way?"

That seemed to tide Laurent over until the Ceremony was held that evening. 

Most of the people present were gathered tightly together, as close to the royal dais as they could physically manage without pressing their way onto the upraised stage in breach of both law and custom. The only ones allowed up there with Auguste were the rest of the royal family. Laurent stood close by Mother since he wasn't allowed to go to Auguste's side until the testing was over, though Laurent didn't cling to her skirts the way Auguste had seen some other children do in unfamiliar situations. 

Auguste's soulmate would have been allowed to ascend onto the dais to join Auguste as well if they'd managed to find a match, but that wouldn't be happening this evening. This was nothing more than theatre in deference to the fact that every prince in his line as far back as the division of Artes had been recorded participated in the tradition.

Besides, Auguste could hardly explain why he was so sure it was unnecessary, lest anyone look too hard into it. Bad enough that Auguste wondered about his father's potential part in the death of his soulmate. Their subjects didn't need to be given reason to wonder about the King's morality too.

The laces of Auguste's left sleeve had been left untied by the servant who'd dressed him earlier, in anticipation. While the whole hall watched on, Auguste rolled the sleeve carefully upwards, revealing his bare forearm. A ceremonial knife had been left for him on a pedestal in the centre of the stage. Just by sight, Auguste could tell that it was a far cry from how sharp Auguste had his own blades maintained. An edge that blunt wouldn't be capable of causing extensive damage. That was on purpose, of course. The point was to cause a sharp flare of surface pain – just enough to register in an obvious way through the soulmate link – not to have the wielder lose a quart of blood to the floor and to have a noticeable scar to show for it if he accidentally applied slightly too much pressure when he sliced.

Auguste imagined that under other circumstances he might have taken his time with this whole thing, even enjoying the anticipation. He might have craned his neck, trying to take in the view of the whole room at once, as he held the knife perpendicular against the back of his bared forearm. In that different life, he would have been watching keenly for the slightest trace of a reaction among the crowd, hoping for some indication that his soulmate had felt the same pain as Auguste had at the moment when he drew the blade across his skin. Instead, Auguste opted for watching Laurent, who had visibly braced himself. It was clear that whatever he had pretended when Auguste had tried to manage his expectations earlier, he was still thinking he might feel it when Auguste was injured, and had prepared himself to bear the hurt. Auguste watched as Laurent didn't flinch when the blade drew along against Auguste's arm; when the skin parted and a thin strip of liquid red finally appeared. Auguste hissed. Laurent didn't, though he did frown. Laurent looked down at his own arm, some mixture of annoyed and betrayed that it didn't clearly hurt the way he'd thought it should.

"It was supposed to be you and me, together, always," Laurent whispered later, when the two of them were finally alone in Auguste's rooms after the celebrations, which had thankfully been somewhat more muted and less protracted than they might have been had the Crown Prince's soulmate been successfully uncovered, giving the kingdom something more to celebrate than just the anniversary of Auguste's birth.

"It still will be," Auguste promised. "I told you, it doesn't matter who our soulmates are. And at least this way I know I'll never be the one who causes you pain."

Auguste would do his best to make sure no one else would either. 

Even if that meant standing up to Father on Laurent's behalf, he told himself.

*

Laurent was screaming, but Auguste couldn't tell if it was from the intensity of the pain itself or a sign that he was panicking from the experience of a sudden and hard rush of sensation with no obvious cause.

Auguste had been in motion, rushing to Laurent's side almost without thought, the moment he'd heard that familiar voice turn into an unfamiliar scream. In the precious seconds it had taken for Auguste to push through the crowd, it seemed that someone had thoughtfully guided Laurent into a chair so that his legs didn't have to support him. Auguste could see why they had thought it necessary. Laurent's face was shockingly white behind his tears, and he was visibly shaking. He looked even younger than his seven years.

"Here. Laurent, I'm here," Auguste said as soon as he was close enough, reaching out to brush his fingers through Laurent's hair the way he always did after Laurent had a nightmare and came stumbling into Auguste's rooms looking for comfort. Laurent's desperate eyes found Auguste's. "Tell me where it hurts."

Laurent's hand pressed hard to his side as if to either stem a flow of blood that wasn't there or to push away the pain. Auguste shifted his own hand to cover it, half-threading their fingers together in the process. He hoped that that point of contact might help ground Laurent even as Auguste was checking that there was no real injury there.

Laurent's jacket was dry, with no traces of blood seeping through. His ribs felt normal under Auguste's gently probing fingers, though he supposed he might not be expert enough to recognise the problem if it was a subtle one. No one could answer what had happened when Auguste asked, suggesting there had been no fall or other potentially injurious incidents. Even so, Auguste would still insist that Laurent would be checked by Father's physician just in case there was something internal that Auguste couldn't detect, for all that he suspected that this pain wasn't coming from Laurent himself. Carefully, just in case there was some injury to exacerbate after all, Auguste scooped Laurent up into his arms as if he were still two rather than nearly eight years old. Auguste briskly carried him off towards the physician, and (perhaps even more importantly) away from the gawking onlookers.

"It's all right," Auguste said, keeping his voice low and reassuring. "I know it hurts, but it's going to get better."

Laurent made a disbelieving noise, as if the pain seemed so bad that he couldn't imagine the return of its absence. But he otherwise let himself fall mostly quiet. Either Auguste's words or his mere presence was enough to calm Laurent so that the screams and cries faded to just the occasional whimper.

Paschal confirmed what Auguste already was almost certain about; this was a phantom pain from his soulmate, not Laurent's own pain.

"Your match is going to be fine," Paschal told Laurent, though he couldn't possibly know that for a fact. Laurent was young, but not a baby. He wouldn't have reacted that way to some insignificant twinge. Whatever injury or sickness was causing his pain must have been serious, Auguste thought. Potentially serious enough to be lethal, though Auguste would never make such a suggestion in Laurent's hearing.

"I don't care about some stranger," Laurent whispered, though there was no force or credibility behind that claim. 

Auguste knew for a fact that that wasn't true. Laurent had never shown any obvious interest in the concept of soulmates when he was under the impression that it was practically a foregone conclusion that he and Auguste were matched, probably because he'd thought he already understood everything he needed to know about it. But once the Ceremony had disproved his assumption once and for all, Laurent had taken to often reading fiction and historical accounts about soulmates where before he might have opted for books about horses or brave knights. Laurent pretended otherwise as best he could manage, given that he was still too young to have anything approaching a decent poker face, but it was clear that he was intrigued by the idea that there was someone out there who he'd probably never met at this stage, but who was still supposed to be better suited to him than anyone else, even Auguste.

So Auguste continued to reassure him, "You'd know if they weren't alright. The fact that you can still feel their pain means they're still alive and breathing. They'll heal from this."

Laurent said nothing, as if determined to cling to the lie that it didn't really matter to him either way. But he didn't continue to outright deny his concern either.

Once he heard what had happened, Father came to the physician's office to see his younger son. He normally left Laurent mostly to Mother and Auguste because he seemed uncertain how to deal with a small boy who by far preferred books over rough-and-tumble play. But he would hardly just ignore Laurent during a time like this. He wasn't utterly uncaring, or some kind of monster. (Surely.)

"You should consider this a happy day, in a way," Father said to Laurent. "Now we have the opportunity to send messengers out through Vere searching for anyone who has suffered a serious injury to that same place where your pain is radiating from, so we can possibly find your soulmate from this."

" _Don't_ ," Auguste forced himself to say, a warning tone to his voice. Father looked taken aback. Laurent, watching on, looked even more shocked. That was fair. He'd never heard Auguste speak that way to Father before. Auguste never _had_ spoken to Father like that before. He almost couldn't imagine managing it a second time.

"Excuse me?" Father said flatly.

Don't search for Laurent's soulmate, Auguste wanted to elaborate. Don't do anything to hurt them, or to hurt Laurent. Just leave it be. Hadn't Father done enough already? Laurent was only the second son anyway, not the future heir to the throne. Father should consider it less vital to control him to the same extent as he'd done to Auguste, since it wasn't like he'd be clearing the path for a future Queen of his own choosing by doing so. It wasn't worth it.

Auguste said none of that. He just shook his head. Father narrowed his eyes at him for a moment, considering, but then turned back to Laurent. It was strange to be ignored by Father in favour of Laurent for once, Auguste thought. Usually it was the other way around. 

Auguste had gained something of a reputation for himself as a fighter in the training salles of Arles, and as a commander when he'd ridden on campaign to the border to do his duty. No one who had heard of his prowess with a sword would ever think to claim he was a coward. But this wasn't battle. This was Father. Auguste would prefer to cross swords with anyone else in the world, even with his life on the line, than to face off against Father verbally.

Auguste tried to imagine a host of ways the conversation could go, if only he could bring himself to have it. Even without Laurent there listening in with overly-inquisitive ears, most of the options weren't exactly preferable. 

Auguste wished he could believe in the option where Auguste said calmly but firmly that although Father was his King, and Auguste was a loyal son and subject, Father really didn't want to test Auguste when it was about Laurent. It wouldn't be intended as a threat, Auguste would assure Father, but a warning, for Father had always said that threats were for weak men who weren't willing to follow through. Auguste could almost picture Father, after being at a very momentary loss for words, unexpectedly laughing and saying he was glad that Auguste was finally showing some propensity for doing what was necessary even if it was a little underhanded. Maybe he would even say that if Auguste had his laces done up so tight over this, they could save the royal coffers from taking a blow and just leave off on the search this once.

Right. If only things could be that easy.

That scenario was incredibly unlikely, though. Father would at best probably view Auguste's sudden insubordination as akin to one of Laurent's temper tantrums from a few years ago and just ignore it. At worst… well. Auguste didn't really want to consider what the worst option would be.

In the end, messengers did get sent out searching, and the best Auguste could do was monitor Laurent for any signs that he'd experienced something similar to Auguste. Like what had happened when Auguste was fourteen, no potential soulmates showed up at Arles to be tested. But unlike Auguste's personal experience, rather than being unnaturally cut off the way Auguste's was years ago, Laurent's pain gradually dulled over time. 

Somewhere out there, Laurent's soulmate lived, and healed, the way Auguste's hadn't been allowed to. Though Auguste despised himself a little for leaving it to chance rather than doing whatever he could to ensure it, Auguste was immensely glad for the outcome. 

Whoever Laurent's soulmate was, Auguste sincerely wished that no further harm would ever come to them, for his brother's sake.

*

"What's the point of even putting me on the battlefield if I'm to be relegated off to the back corner where I won't even be able to see the action, let alone participate in it. I'm thirteen," Laurent protested. "I'm old enough to fight."

Auguste saw Father and Uncle share an almost contemptuous look right in front of Laurent, like he couldn't see them; like he wasn't more than intelligent enough to know when he was being written off as incapable and inconsequential. Auguste didn't like the idea of Laurent being anywhere near the front lines himself, but neither did he think that Laurent was useless. Laurent had a sharp mind not unlike Uncle's. He would therefore have been better suited to the strategic tent right alongside Father and Uncle, surely. But he was only thirteen, and Father and Uncle didn't have as much faith in him as Auguste. 

"Imagine what would happen if you got hurt," Father said. For a short beat, it sounded like Father was actually expressing genuine concern. Not that Auguste didn't think him capable of _feeling_ such a thing for his sons, but it was something quite different to put it into words. He would probably think that sort of thing was a confession of weakness. Father obliterated any doubts Auguste might have about that by adding, "Your brother would lose sight of the real goal if he found out you were in trouble, or in pain. You may not be soulmates, but somehow you manage to be just as distracting for him as if you were."

Laurent tried to look unaffected by being told that it wasn't really about him after all. Auguste would have reached out for him to comfort him, but that would have only proved Father's point, and neither he nor Laurent would have ever heard the end of it then.

They were separated shortly after that. Auguste insisted in leaving two of his best men with his brother without their father knowing. What Father didn't know, he couldn't object to, and then Auguste didn't have to feel like he was a failure as a son for going against him.

The battle raged for the majority of the day. Auguste was too close to the action to really see the overall patterns for himself, but he imagined that from where Father, or even Laurent, stood the flow of troops moving forward and backward in equal increments looked like the waves Auguste had seen lapping against the shores at Marches a few years ago when they'd visited the region. Akielos wasn't winning despite their superior numbers, because Auguste and the men at his command were just holding them at bay (barely). But neither was Vere having much success in driving the Akielons backwards and out of Delfeur the way Father had sworn they would manage with this war. As trying to teach Laurent chess (but really being taught by Laurent in the end) had made Auguste aware, this situation was closer to a stalemate than checkmate, though both sides were still managing to pick off a few mostly inconsequential pieces here and there. 

Auguste had to believe a victory would eventually be possible, though, otherwise the fight would be pointless. But waiting for any sign of that victory on the horizon was difficult, to say the least. Every Veretian loss of lives cut into him the way his opponents' swords and spears hadn't managed to do. 

Eventually, they couldn't keep throwing themselves at each other without real progress. The battle lapsed into quiet as messengers came to both Auguste and the Akielons announcing a request for a parlay. For once, the Akielon King seemed to listen, for the Akielon troops were pulled back slightly, and were ordered into stillness, though from Auguste's vantage point they still seemed somewhat wary. 

This could be the first real chance for negotiations, finally, after Akielos had so far proven unwilling to listen to anything approaching reason. Auguste wasn't sure what other than complete victory and a renewed claim over Delfeur could persuade Theomedes of Akielos to end the fight now, but perhaps he was as tired of watching his people die as Auguste was, even if he only had to watch it from a distance while Auguste had a front row seat.

Auguste would have liked to have ridden back behind the lines to consult with Father, and maybe even to see Laurent if he'd also been called back to the royal strategic tents that were positioned close enough to the fort for the occupants to retreat inside if the lines were broken. But the messenger who had come to Auguste from Father had advised Auguste to instead hold his position and prepare to charge forward if the horn should blow. Apparently, Father was already planning ahead for the parlay to fail, which wasn't unreasonable given everything that had happened up until then, but _was_ somewhat disheartening all the same. Auguste would give almost anything for this to end as quickly as possible, with minimal casualties.

While the Akielons and his own men alike used the pause in the otherwise seemingly never-ending combat to start recovering their injured – though the dead would still have to wait their turn until some more stable peace could be attained – Auguste could do little but accept the water his Guard offered him and wait, watching. 

Auguste wasn't entirely prepared for it when the horn blew before the Akielons showed any sign of readying themselves again. Was the parlay even over? It must have been, if barely. It felt wrong to surge forward before the Akielons were ready, but Auguste had an order from Father. From his King. And there was at least a small gap between the two armies now. The Akielons would see them coming and would have enough time to draw and brace themselves. And Auguste knew what Father would say: Akielos had moved to take Delfeur from Vere in the first place the moment they perceived Vere might be vulnerable, and had not waited patiently for them to prepare themselves. They were only answering in kind.

Besides, if it could save Veretian lives and get Laurent off the field before there was any real chance of harm coming to him, Auguste could hardly refuse. 

They gained the upper hand for perhaps the first time in the entire battle. The first time in the war, probably, since they'd never really been in control at Sanpelier. Auguste tried not to feel like it was ill-gotten. He'd done nothing shameful, technically, but Auguste wasn't much for technicalities. He preferred a more straight-forward version of honour. 

He got his chance for that within the hour. 

Auguste had seen the older Akielon Prince (the bastard, he recalled) fighting from a distance, sent out to command from the front much as Auguste himself had been. Auguste hadn't yet caught sight of the younger brother or the King, who had reserved themselves away from the melee much as Vere's own King and other Princes had done. And yet even though he couldn't see much of his face past the helm he wore, where Auguste had lost his own helm hours ago, there could be little doubt that the young man who approached calling out a challenge to Auguste was Prince Damianos.

When what tried to, Auguste halted them and told them to step aside. The Akielon Prince had a reputation as a strong fighter, and he'd by all accounts showed it was more than just empty flattery at Sanpelier. And he was fresher than Auguste's men – or than Auguste himself, for that matter, having not spent hours on end swinging his sword and holding his shield steady against the blows of all comers. In their relative states, it was barely a surprise that he slaughtered what remained of Auguste's Prince's Guard when they stepped forward to try to cut Damianos off from their Prince; they were good, but even at their best they likely weren't of a calibre to stand up to a man significantly larger than them and with the benefit of years of tutelage from a royal swordsmaster. 

Auguste had no interest in callously using Veretian men as no more than fodder to wear Damianos out, the way Uncle and perhaps even Father himself would have advised him to do. Auguste wasn't that kind of leader. He called for any others among his countrymen who might have swept forward to take the place of the Prince's Guard to stand back and not intercede.

The challenge was an official one, with all the attached rules. Auguste wasn't sure whether that made it better or worse. It would mean his was the only Veretian life on the line, at least for now, and with no soulmate to suffer along with him if things went awry either. However, the terms didn't particularly favour Auguste, considering that he would gain less from cutting Damianos down than Damianos probably would if he managed the reverse. Auguste was bleakly aware that he was the only real thing holding the line at this point. They couldn't afford for Auguste to fall to this challenge. But at the same time, he was also serving as the lynchpin of Vere's morale. If Auguste refused, would it not register as being due to the belief that he might lose if he fought Akielos's best? If Auguste showed anything that might be interpreted as fear, this whole thing could turn on a copper sol.

He accepted.

Damianos was good. But he was nineteen, and by all accounts this was only his second real battle, in which he'd barely fought up until now. He didn't have the experience Auguste had accrued. But he had the confidence of a man twice as experienced as Auguste. It was that hubris as much as Auguste himself that bested him, Auguste thought.

Damianos's sword fell to the ground and a pained noise forced itself from between Damianos's lips. Disbelieving, he clutched at his wounded shoulder. Even with Damianos's helm knocked off earlier in their confrontation to match Auguste's and his face now fully revealed, Auguste couldn't tell if the rivulets running down Damianos's face were purely comprised of sweat. It didn't really matter. He was clearly in enough pain to justify it if they had been tears that had brimmed over. Father would have jeered at such a potential weakness. Auguste didn't.

Until now, every life Auguste's sword had cut short had received a quick end, or had been left behind with no ability to track the course of their fate; a necessity when Auguste's own life was constantly at risk. Until just then, there had been too little time to see the pain in his opponent's eyes as he gripped at a wound that was probably excruciating, but which was unlikely to be fatal on its own. Auguste hadn't had either the time or the wherewithal to think about the fact that there was probably another person out there somewhere experiencing the same pain. Someone who had probably done nothing at all to earn that pain for themselves. This was the battlefield; Auguste couldn't afford to think of soulmates, or he wouldn't be able to fight a single man unreservedly. But he did have to wonder to himself whether the existence of Damianos's soulmate would make it better or worse if Auguste cut down Damianos now and ended this fight, possibly taking some of the wind out of Akielos's sails as he did so. On the one hand, giving the Akielon Prince a quick end would put him and his soulmate alike out of their collective current misery rather than making Damianos recommence fighting while his dominant arm was too injured to grasp the handle of his sword without agony. But on the other hand, it would mean ending one life and potentially ruining another even though neither of them was imminent threats to Auguste right now. Damianos stood unarmed and seemingly almost unsure how he'd reached that point. If Auguste cut him down, it wouldn't be an act within the single-combat, or a necessity of self-defence. It would be just for the sake of killing him.

In the end, Auguste could only do what he thought was right. His opponent had made it his business to ride out and challenge Auguste in particular, but Auguste had no personal vendetta against him in turn. Auguste had no desire to strike him down unarmed. If he met his end once they continued the fight because he was already seriously injured and at a disadvantage, then so be it. Damianos would only have himself to blame for that.

It didn't go that way. Perhaps Auguste, too, was guilty of resting on his own conceit, even if only briefly.

Auguste's hand was barely shaking as he brought it up to his chest. Good, he thought. Father would abhor the idea of showing obvious signs of weakness where the Akielons could see. Auguste's fingertips found where the join of his breastplate had been rended entirely open to the elements. That wasn't good. He would have to go out of his way to protect his side when they recommenced the fight a second time. At least Damianos seemed to be giving Auguste a moment to regather himself the same way Auguste had done for him. There might be some honour in Akielos after all. Though Auguste might need more than just a quick moment to recover. The prospect of bending down to collect his sword at that moment was almost intolerable. It hurt enough just standing still and breathing shallowly. 

And his fingers felt strangely numb, Auguste finally realised, and might have trouble grasping the hilt with any determination. When he pulled them away from his broken armour to look at them, all Auguste could see was red.

So much red. 

Oh. 

Perhaps Damianos wasn't being lenient after all. He probably just realised, as Auguste was doing now, that the job was already accomplished. Damianos's wound, though it looked grievous at a glance, had been barely bleeding anymore when last Auguste had caught a glimpse of it. Auguste's bleeding wasn't slowing similarly.

The pain finally registered past the shock. Auguste immediately wished it hadn't. There had been something dreamlike about the experience before, which would have been a bad thing if there was anything Auguste was desperately supposed to be doing to save himself, but… well. This agony served no purpose. 

Auguste could only be darkly grateful that at least he was the only one who had to feel it. 

Damianos was apparently no more inclined to hasten the end of an unarmed man than Auguste had been. Suddenly that didn't seem quite so much like 'honour'.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for character death, CSA and self-harm for practical reasons definitely apply to this chapter. And as is mentioned in the tags, this has a somewhat open ending. I get that some people might not love that. Take care of you.

Even deep at the rear of the formation where Father had directed Laurent to stand uselessly, his sword not even drawn, there was still some small risk of a long-range attack finding its mark if the Akielons knew where to aim. Laurent wasn't flying a banner labelling himself a high-value royal target the way Auguste had been when he'd pushed his horse into a gallop towards the front, and Father would have said the barbarians were too stupid to realise that Laurent might even be present at Marlas in the first place, let alone to think to seek him out. But it was still possible that danger might find him either coincidentally or because of his station. That was obviously why Auguste's pale eyebrows had pinched towards each other unhappily when Father had ordered Laurent out of the protected tents and onto the actual battlefield to witness the action and 'experience' war from afar. Laurent was sure that Auguste would have outright fought with Father over that decision if he'd believed the risk to Laurent was in any way significant.

And yet, for a long moment Laurent was legitimately convinced that he had been struck by an arrow. His hand scrabbled at his shoulder as if he could grasp the source of his pain. But his fingers encountered nothing but air and armour. His fingertips came away dry. He was physically unharmed.

The same could not apparently be said for his soulmate, who seemed to have been stabbed. _Again_. Could he not manage to avoid life-threatening injury for more than a few years at a time? 

Laurent's first thought was for Auguste, as it always was when he considered his soulmate. Laurent had long since logically accepted that Auguste wasn't the person at the other end of the intangible link that was currently syphoning sheer agony into Laurent's body. However, Laurent had spent several of his formative years absolutely certain that his soulmate would be Auguste, and a year or two even after that had been disproved living in denial that anyone else could be so perfect for Laurent. So it was now simply second nature to associate the two. 

Right then, though, Laurent was actually a little glad that Auguste wasn't his soulmate after all. At least that meant that this pain wasn't a sign that something terrible had happened to his brother. But the far-too-coincidental timing of what must have been a stabbing wound suggested Laurent's soulmate was nonetheless _someone_ out there on the fields of Marlas, facing down spears and swords. He was probably standing within a kilometre of Laurent at that moment, likely clutching his hand to his shoulder just as Laurent currently was. The enemy might be bearing down on him even now, ready to take advantage of his injury. 

It didn't alarm Laurent _quite_ as much as the idea of Auguste in that same position, but he couldn't claim to be unfazed. After countless hours poring over book after book on the topic, fictional and otherwise, and imagining what kind of man could possibly suit Laurent better than his own brother, Laurent had somehow come to develop an unexpected attachment to the idea of this so-far nameless and faceless spectre who was supposed to be Laurent's ideal match. He must have been the best of men, honourable and true, just like Auguste. That was the only conclusion Laurent had been able to accept. A man like that didn't deserve to suffer what Laurent was feeling now. And he certainly shouldn't be in a position to potentially die, especially before Laurent could even meet and come to know him. He had to make it through this.

What would Laurent do if the pain he was feeling from his soulmate suddenly ceased? 

There was nothing Laurent really could do to make sure that didn't happen, though. He hadn't been given a horse. And even if he ran, he didn't know which direction he should go to try to protect his soulmate, other than forwards in the general direction of the fighting. Laurent couldn't even know for sure that his soulmate was among the Veretians, though Father would be aghast if he knew that Laurent had even momentarily entertained the other possibility. For all Laurent knew, he would have to break through the Akielon lines to find him. Laurent somehow doubted he could manage that. If nothing else, the two guards Auguste had insisted on assigning to Laurent for his protection would surely have stopped him from wading into the melee if he tried. And if Auguste got any hint that Laurent was in harm's way, then Father would have likely been proven right; Auguste would end up with his focus split, and might get hurt because of it. There was no way Laurent could take such a risk. There was nothing more important to him than Auguste; not even his soulmate. Not yet, anyway. 

All Laurent could really do was wait for the battle to end, and hope that it happened soon, before his soulmate could come to any more harm.

He hoped that out there where the Veretian and Akielon lines pressed at each other, Auguste was on the verge of victory, or at least on the verge of initiating a much longer pause than the too-brief one Laurent had seen play out an hour or so earlier. The sun was slowly approaching the horizon. Surely they wouldn't have to fight in the dark? It would make sense for them to take the opportunity to collect their injured and return to their camps for at least a few hours of rest. They could always recommence in the morning, assuming neither side had stumbled upon a better solution than just running at each other with swords extended by then. 

Laurent imagined how things would unfold if he was called back to safety for the night. Auguste would return to Laurent's side, likely tired but blessedly unharmed. And when he heard about Laurent's soulmate almost certainly being on these fields and being seriously injured, Auguste would insist on helping Laurent check the physicians' tents for anyone who had taken a severe blow to the shoulder and yet still breathed. If they couldn't find the mysterious soldier among the Veretian ranks, perhaps they could even convince Father that there might be a way out of this other than fighting after all. Laurent had read a book like that once, about two generals from warring nations who discovered they were soulmates and managed to tie their countries together in peace rather than letting bloodshed further tear into them. It had been aspirational fiction rather than a historical account, but Laurent couldn't see why it couldn't work in reality. And Auguste would back him up and say that there was nothing wrong with being optimistic, even in the middle of a war. 

Really, Laurent just wanted more than anything to end this day with Auguste's arm looped around him so that Laurent could lean against his brother's broad chest, and with Laurent's soulmate safely resting and healing on a physician's cot in front of him where Laurent could see him and maybe start to figure out what was so special about him that he was somehow Laurent's match instead of Auguste. Maybe Laurent would even be bold enough to clasp his soulmate's hand in his own, a physical tether between them where up until now the only connections had been through twinges and aches and a couple of bouts of outright agony. It would have been nice not to have to only associate his match with pain.

The tableau in Laurent's mind was so peaceful compared to the battle still raging in the distance. But very shortly afterwards, the sounds of clashing metal did fall away into quiet. Laurent would almost have thought that he'd gotten his wish, but the near silence was strangely heavy in a way Laurent found he didn't like. When a horn sounded, there were no audible cries of victory or relief from the Veretian ranks. There was nothing but waiting, all of the soldiers around him tense with anticipation of whatever news would come. Auguste's men hovered closer than ever near Laurent, as if expecting an ambush. When people came, though, it wasn't Akielon soldiers flooding into their ranks, but instead just a few of the men who had been guarding Father and his Council. They appeared directly in front of Laurent, telling him that they'd been asked to escort him. Their sombre mood set Laurent further on edge. Surely Vere couldn't have somehow _lost_? Not with Auguste leading the charge. Auguste never had to retreat or to concede in any fight. He never lost, except to Laurent when they raced, but that, as Laurent had recently realised, was something altogether different.

Laurent hated the knowledge that it would be quite some time before he could see Auguste with his own eyes and hear him confirm what had happened; Auguste would have much further to ride to get to the royal tents than Laurent did, and Auguste would probably have to ride carefully, picking his way through fallen comrades, most of the way. Laurent would just have to wait. There was no other choice.

So it wasn't much of a surprise that there was no sign of Auguste when Laurent arrived at the strategic tents. It was less expected that Father was nowhere in sight either. But he supposed that, whatever had happened, it was probably something that meant that Father would be too busy to greet Laurent himself. There was Uncle, at least. He would probably be able to inform Laurent of at least some details of what was happening.

And so he did, in the most perfunctory tone Laurent had perhaps ever heard: "Your father the King has been felled by an Akielon arrow."

It took a moment for the words to process fully. Laurent didn't quite know how to react once they did. It was different than when the physician had told them that Mother had finally passed. That had been expected. The possibility had been building for long enough that the release of the built-up tension of it had come in the form of a rush of tears down Laurent's cheeks just moments after the news was delivered. This wasn't like that. This was a complete shock. There was no threat of him crying this time. Laurent didn't feel any emotions strong enough for that. Mostly he just felt numb, but for the ever-present hurt in his shoulder. 

He vaguely considered that. An arrow had struck Father, Uncle had said. An arrow had been Laurent's first thought as to the cause of his pain. But no, Laurent knew he had no such connection with his father. The King hadn't been at all injured while Laurent had been suffering for those weeks when he'd been nearly eight. Though even without that knowledge, Laurent still would have been certain they weren't linked by anything but blood. There was no way Father, with all that distance born of uncertainty about how to deal with Laurent, was supposed to be the most important person in Laurent's life, above even Auguste. 

Besides, the throbbing in Laurent's shoulder was persisting. His soulmate was still alive, if not well. Unlike Father, apparently.

"Did the Akielons penetrate our lines?" asked Laurent. He'd seen no sign of them in his sector, but he would hardly have seen evidence if, instead of a horde of them, a few spies were able to sneak through and make a beeline for the Veretian King. Laurent thought, based on what he'd read of past wars, that that was a move that seemed more Veretian than Akielon in nature. The Akielons appeared to prefer to use blunt overwhelming force rather than precision strikes. But it was still possible. What other explanation could there be, when Father had been positioned as the safest man on the field?

"No," Uncle said when Laurent had said as much. "Your Father wasn't here behind the lines at the time. He was riding out to your brother's aid. He was distracted when the cry was relayed from the front, and was struck by an arrow when he took off his helm in mourning for your brother."

Laurent blinked.

In… in _mourning_?

"Auguste?" Laurent asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Uncle shook his head silently.

And that was how Laurent was left to find out that his whole world was gone. Mostly through implication, and as an afterthought, as if his brother's fate barely warranted a mention. Or as if it had been some foregone conclusion that Laurent should have expected. But he hadn't. It had never even occurred to him. Not with Auguste.

Even having accepted that Auguste wasn't his soulmate the way Laurent had always wished when he was younger, Laurent had still somehow expected that he would _know_ if Auguste was in pain or was seriously in trouble. Apparently that too had been a child's foolish hope, not destined to be fulfilled. He hadn't suspected a thing. Even the brief thought that Vere, and therefore Auguste, might have lost hadn't prompted any consideration that Auguste himself might be hurt, or worse. It just didn't seem possible. Auguste _never_ got hurt.

And yet.

The pain that bloomed in Laurent's chest was somehow even more overwhelming than what he felt in his shoulder.

"It's difficult losing family. I understand," Uncle said, almost conspiratorially, as if it were some secret they were sharing. Laurent supposed it was; Uncle knew exactly what it was like to lose his parents, and now his brother as well. They were the same, in that respect. In many respects. Who else could really understand what Laurent was going through now? Who else would even try? Laurent was alone now, except for Uncle.

"It hurts," Laurent said. He wasn't even sure which type of pain he was referring to, physical or otherwise. Likely both. His fingers drifted absently up to his shoulder, kneading into it like that would do anything to stop or otherwise change the pain. Kneading at the space over his heart would similarly accomplish nothing, he knew. Uncle's eyes followed the path of Laurent's hand. 

"Were you injured?"

"No. But it feels like it's on fire."

"Because of your soulmate," Uncle surmised. There was something sharp about his gaze. "Your shoulder…" Though he said that last part so softly that Laurent wondered if he'd imagined it. 

"It hurts so much," Laurent confessed. "But at least it means _he's_ still alive, right? It wouldn't hurt if he wasn't."

"Yes," Uncle said thoughtfully. "Lucky for you."

Laurent didn't feel particularly lucky. But at the same time, he could hardly imagine not having at least that one tiny thing to cling onto. If Auguste was gone, his soulmate _had_ to live. Apart from Uncle, that was all Laurent really had left to hold onto.

So he clung to his pain, and it embraced him right back.

*

Laurent remembered little of the ride back to Arles, or even of the first few days back in the palace, except the feeling that it was all so empty without Auguste. Though he did vaguely recall that the servants that undressed, washed and then redressed him when he'd arrived back to Arles had had to manipulate his limbs without any help from him, like he was a much younger child, or a lifeless doll. The latter wasn't far from how he felt at first. The only thing that grounded him at all had been the throbbing in his shoulder.

Eventually, though, Laurent was pried out of his haze by Uncle's words.

"It's a shame your brother didn't turn out to be your soulmate the way you so desperately seemed to want when you were younger," Uncle mused. "Then you could have waited with the King's physician and told him if you felt anything, so that the physician would have known the moment his assistance was needed. There might have been time to save your brother, then. Such a pity that wasn't meant to be."

Laurent knew Uncle didn't mean to make it worse. He was just being candid. Laurent had always been frustrated when people treated Laurent like he couldn't handle even that much, the way Father always had. Before. Laurent supposed he should be grateful that things had changed enough that Uncle would tell him the truth, even when it hurt.

It was hard to think that way, though. Instead, Laurent felt sick. Had Auguste really suffered for a long enough period that the physician might have been able to reach him before he finally passed? And had Laurent somehow failed his brother by not being able to provide him with the chance to be saved like that? Why _hadn't_ Laurent been Auguste's soulmate? Laurent had accepted it, but he'd never really been able to figure out the reason for it. Auguste had always made it obvious that he considered Laurent to be the most important person in his life, so seemingly the issue wasn't on his end. It must be on Laurent's.

It shouldn't matter now. It wasn't something that Laurent could change. But it did matter, even so. It ate away at him.

If Laurent had done something more – if he had been better – could he have been what Auguste needed from a soulmate? Could he have then kept Auguste alive and by his side, the way Uncle had implied?

He would never know now.

He tried to push those thoughts away, and to replace them with something less poisonous by reaching out for reassurance. For comfort.

Uncle reached back. Just not the way Laurent had expected or hoped for. And yet Laurent let it happen.

And oh, of course. 

Of _course_ Laurent hadn't been Auguste's ideal match. How could he be, when he would do something like that? Auguste would never have acted as Laurent did. He hadn't been like that. There was something terribly wrong with Laurent, and someone who was tainted that way could obviously never have been linked to a man as good as Auguste in that way. It all made sense now.

It really _was_ his fault that they hadn't been matched.

Laurent could barely imagine being anyone's ideal match now, for that matter, but his actual soulmate was still out there somewhere. The lingering pain in Laurent's shoulder told him as much. Would he even want Laurent now? Would he feel what Laurent was feeling, and know what happened those nights when Uncle closed his bedroom door with Laurent still inside with him? Laurent couldn't be sure. It hurt, especially the first few times, but the much more pronounced shoulder pain would be enough of a distraction that his soulmate might not even really notice the other. But Laurent somehow felt like he would know everything nonetheless. If the man really was Laurent's match, surely he would be able to take one look at Laurent and know that there was something terribly wrong with him. He would be able to deduce what Laurent had asked for, and what he'd since allowed. And soulmate or not, he'd be too disgusted to want anything to do with Laurent then.

It didn't matter either way, Laurent told himself. Not anymore. Laurent had no intention of ever actually meeting his soulmate now, or acknowledging him if they did cross paths. Auguste never had found his own match, so it had to be possible to avoid it. If it was, then Laurent was determined to do so. After all, the signs all pointed to Laurent's soulmate being some soldier who had fought at Marlas. If it was a Veretian, then surely Uncle would have found out who by now. He'd seemed so intent on it; enough to look into it even without Laurent having to ask. And surely there were records of the injuries treated during the war. That left the prospect that his soulmate was instead Akielon. That hadn't seemed like such a problem when it had first occurred to Laurent, despite being in the middle of a war with them, and even knowing it was someone who would have followed Theomedes's orders to take advantage of Mother's death and march on Vere while they were vulnerable. But now…

Laurent couldn't imagine how he could be destined to spend his life with someone who might have cheered when he heard that Damianos of Akielos had slain Auguste of Vere. 

*

"Auguste's soulmate," said Laurent when it finally occurred to him. "Has anyone come forward claiming they might have been his match, since the battle?"

They must have felt the pain of their soulmate's injury much like Laurent had. Even if theirs hadn't been as… enduring.

Uncle said, "No need to worry about that. Auguste's soulmate has been dead for years. Almost as long as you've been alive, I believe."

" _What_?"

"Come now, you can't be that surprised. He made it past his Ceremony and all the way to age twenty-five without so much as a single prospect showing up. You must have thought there was a reason for that."

No. It hadn't even occurred to Laurent that it might be possible. No one had deserved to meet and be with their soulmate more than Auguste. There was something inherently wrong in knowing that he'd been denied that chance even long before he'd died himself. Had Auguste known that himself? He must have. It would explain why he'd never seemed excited about the prospect of soulmates except when it was Laurent's match they were talking about.

But still: "How can you be so certain?"

"The King had me coordinate a country-wide search for possible matches when your brother felt that his soulmate seemed to have broken their arm. And then soon after my people had uncovered and reported a few prospects, there was a rash of deaths and your brother's pain stopped all of a sudden. I can only imagine that your father felt he had to arrange a few 'accidents' for the benefit of the kingdom. Where a Prince's match is unsuitable, it only makes sense to take care of it accordingly, I suppose."

Laurent could barely imagine Auguste forgiving Father for such a thing, if he'd known of it. On the other hand, though, he didn't really doubt that Father could have been convinced to do it in the first place, even to Auguste, who he favoured. Father was the kind of man who'd married Mother for political gain despite them not being soulmates, but that wasn't how Auguste had been. Father would have known that, and had to account for it. 

Uncle continued, "I'm sure it seems harsh to you, but soulmates can be a distraction from what needs to be done, you see. _You_ understand having a task so important that you can't let your personal feelings for someone or something get in the way, don't you?" 

Laurent thought of Damianos of Akielos, from whom Laurent had to claim vengeance on his brother's behalf, no matter what. "Yes," Laurent said. "I understand."

*

People didn't seem intent on tiptoeing around Laurent when they spoke of the battle, even when the topic revolved directly around Auguste or Father in particular. It was very unlike when Mother had been nearing her end, or afterwards. Laurent had known for weeks what was happening back then, but everyone around him had pretended whenever Laurent was anywhere nearby that everything was going to be fine. One might have been forgiven for thinking that Laurent was three – a child incapable of knowing the truth – rather than thirteen. Auguste's stricken face would have told him that the rest of them were lying to him, if nothing else. Auguste was (or had been) terrible at hiding anything of importance from Laurent. 

Even once Mother had passed, Father had insisted on trying to shield Laurent by claiming she did so painlessly, as if Father would be in any position to know what she'd felt. Laurent wouldn't so easily be persuaded to forget hearing through the door how his once-strong mother had been reduced to whimpers when the pain had grown too intense to bear in silence, while meanwhile Father had stood stoic, not feeling an ounce of it. There was no way they'd been linked, whatever Father tried to suggest. Laurent could only imagine Father attempted to maintain the fiction that they'd been soulmates even after Mother's death for Laurent's 'benefit', as there was no other reason for it at that stage; there was certainly no more alliance between Vere and Kempt riding on the perceived strength of the royal marriage. 

Just a few short months later, apparently things had shifted enough that no one tried to protect Laurent's innocence by claiming that Auguste or Father had met quick and painless ends. Uncle wasn't the only one who spoke of such things, unfortunately. Perhaps the all considered Laurent to be more adult now that he'd lived through a war, even if he hadn't really been allowed to take part in it directly. Or perhaps it was the fact that Laurent was now their future King, to whom they ultimately owed their honesty as well as their allegiance. Either way, Laurent almost wished for the return of the lies, just about this.

Most of Auguste's personal Guard had fallen in defence of him on the field, but there were many other soldiers who had watched on as Auguste was challenged by and subsequently battled Prince Damianos of Akielos (or the Prince-killer, as they were calling him) in single combat. One soldier in particular – Laurent couldn't remember his name, but Laurent had a feeling he was one of the younger sons of some minor nobility to the far south, who had likely needed to flee their lands when Delfeur had shifted ownership – approached Laurent about it out of some apparent sense of duty.

"Your brother died a hero to his people, and he fought honourably to his last," the soldier informed Laurent with a small bow. The bow was in Laurent's direction, but it was probably meant to venerate Auguste more so than Laurent himself. "More honourably than his opponent." 

That went without saying, Laurent should think. Auguste's opponent had been some Akielon savage who surely couldn't begin to deserve the title of 'Prince' compared with Auguste. What would he know of honour? But Laurent was curious to know every detail he could, in case it might reveal some weakness of Damianos's for Laurent to eventually exploit. So he asked, "What do you mean by that?"

The soldier hesitated. "You mean no one's told you?" He suddenly seemed to be wondering if that meant he should neglect to do so as well.

"No one until now," Laurent said pointedly. "Go on. This sounds like something I might need to know, don't you think?"

The soldier did eventually give in. "His Highness Prince Auguste had the Akielon Prince beaten. The Prince-killer had received the stab of Prince Auguste's sword right through his shoulder, and his sword had fallen to the ground…"

Laurent was fairly certain the soldier continued speaking long after that, but he didn't hear much of anything after the words 'through his shoulder'. A wound through the shoulder during Auguste's last fight. So it had probably occurred just minutes before Laurent had seen the fighting stop in the distance from where he'd been watching. Right about when Laurent had nearly been brought to his knees with mirroring pain in his own shoulder. Laurent's hand clenched so that it wouldn’t reach thoughtlessly for where the pain had mostly faded away but still occasionally twinged uncomfortably.

It made a horrible kind of sense. Laurent too had played his own role in getting Auguste killed by failing him. Of course fate would think them a matched set. And who could possibly play a more important role than Auguste in Laurent's life if not the man who took Auguste away from him? And of course Laurent's soulmate wasn't a good and honourable man like Auguste after all, the way Laurent had initially convinced himself he must be. After all, Laurent wouldn't have deserved him if he was. It really should be this way instead.

It had been Auguste's sword that had driven that pain into Laurent's shoulder, Laurent realised. He wondered whether that mental image would haunt his dreams the way his other imaginings of Auguste's death had done. And it had been Laurent's own match who had sliced into his brother in turn, taking everything away from Laurent except the soulmate link. Now the knowledge of who that soulmate was had taken that away too, in every way that mattered, for Laurent could hardly take any comfort in the idea that _Damianos_ was out there waiting for Laurent, except if he phrased it as 'out there waiting for Laurent to kill him'.

With that thought in mind, though, perhaps this discovery didn't need to be entirely bad. Laurent could use this knowledge, and the link.

Laurent remembered Uncle saying: where a Prince's match was _unsuitable_ …

Well. Laurent would be more than willing to take care of the problem himself. With pleasure.

*

Two months prior to Laurent's eighteenth nameday – when Laurent would be expected to perform the Ceremony to try to find his soulmate as Auguste had done in vain nearly twelve years earlier – he sent a messenger to Akielos inviting Prince Damianos to the upcoming celebrations, with the implication that Laurent had reason to believe it was particularly important for them to be soulmate-tested. 

Laurent had to assume that Uncle knew that he'd sent the letter, but he did nothing to stop it.

The message that returned two weeks later didn't outright accuse Vere of attempting treachery – such restraint suggested that Theomedes himself had not been the one who'd drafted the wording of the missive, from what Laurent had heard of the Akielon King's temperament – but the insinuation was there nonetheless.

That was fine. Laurent had half-expected it. Only half, because he'd wondered if the Akielons might just be stupid enough to agree without even questioning it. Laurent wouldn't have been that surprised if they were, all things considered. But apparently even in a nation predominantly made up of brainless savages, there was at least an ounce of intelligence somewhere in the royal advisory.

It didn't matter. Laurent had an easy way of overcoming their reticence to believe him.

Laurent sent back a second communication providing nothing but a date that fell a few days after the message would be set to arrive in Akielos, a time of day, what Laurent went out of his way to ensure were the accurately-translated Akielon words for 'back of the left forearm', and Laurent's own signature and seal.

The Akielons probably wouldn't know what to make of the cryptic message at first, but if Laurent was right in his assumptions, it should become very obvious to them at the mentioned time.

On the assigned evening, just before the sun would disappear below the horizon (as he'd specified in the letter), Laurent took out the knife he'd tracked down. It wasn't the official palace Ceremonial knife that Auguste had used, and which Laurent himself would use in a little over a month, for Laurent had no easy access to that, at least not without people asking questions he'd prefer not to answer (just yet). But Laurent had taken his cue from the Ceremony, for the knife he held was equally blunt so that it wouldn't go deep, but would cause significant surface pain.

He ran it up his left forearm. The first try didn't quite draw blood; it required more pressure to make up for the lack of sharpness, apparently. Live and learn. Laurent never made the same mistake twice. He couldn't afford to, given the stakes he faced. So the second attempt drew a loud hiss from Laurent's mouth. He did it again, carving a second line of parallel blossoming redness. And once more, just for good measure. In case that still wasn't quite enough to make his point clear, he took a bottle of alcohol he'd swiped from Paschal's office and poured it over the three wounds. He barely managed to stifle his yelp at the sharp burn as the liquid hit the wound, mixing with the blood and washing it off in pale swirls, though more slowly took its place. None of his guards came running, so Laurent had to assume he'd covered up the sound well enough that it hadn't fully travelled through the thick wood of the door into his apartments.

That, or they were just pointedly ignoring having heard it despite the fact that a sound of pain might have indicated Laurent could be currently at risk from hands other than his own. Laurent couldn't entirely rule that out. He'd found traitors in his guard before, after all. But he would like to believe that neither Jord nor Orlant, who were the pair currently guarding his door, were the type. 

Either way, they found out that Laurent was wounded soon enough, as they had to escort Laurent to the physician's office while Laurent clutched a cloth to his arm, with shades of pink and red slowly seeping through, declaring the injury to anyone who cared to look. They said nothing about it, however. They knew better by now than to question Laurent when Laurent himself had an opportunity to offer answers unprompted and clearly chose not to do so.

Paschal was a different matter.

"They're superficial. I doubt there will be any type of scarring. But this was dangerous," Paschal said as he finished applying the ointment. "If you had cut too deep…"

"That was never a risk," Laurent said. "The knife was practically blunt. Shallow cuts sting the most anyway. Or so I'm told."

Paschal gave no sign that he correctly interpreted that as meaning that Laurent had been doing an unsanctioned soulmate test. Why should he think so, when as far as he and anyone else was concerned, there were no potential prospects for Laurent to test, and when his Ceremony was fast approaching for him to conduct the test officially anyway. Laurent was glad it wasn't obvious to him. Paschal might have kept his secrets, but then again, he was Uncle's physician, technically speaking, not Laurent's. Laurent didn't think he was the type to tattle on him, but Laurent wasn't about to take the smallest chance that word would get back to Uncle. 

Even without knowing the reason, Paschal still sighed. "You must know what people will say when they find out you've been cutting into your own skin."

"Oh yes," Laurent said. "I know how my uncle will spin it. He'll have everyone questioning whether I'm mentally unstable, at least until the next round of gossip distracts them."

"Then why…" 

"Because," said Laurent casually, "the alternative to cutting myself was trying to find a guard who would take a whip to my back. I suspect there's a chance that even the Regent's Guard would probably have balked at doing that to their future King, even if it was going to be just a few stripes. This seemed simpler." Simpler to control, too, just in case there _was_ someone who didn't mind inflicting pain on the Crown Prince and decided to take it further than Laurent would like. 

Paschal didn't seem to know what to say to that.

A second letter arrived from Akielos just over a week after Laurent had cut his arm. This time it was from Damianos himself rather than ostensibly being from his father. Laurent could barely bring himself to read the words, rife with unadulterated excitement to meet Laurent as they came across, but he got the gist. Basically, it amounted to 'I'll be there'.

Fool. Damianos had every rational reason to be cautious of Laurent. He'd killed Laurent's brother. He'd ruined Laurent's life. He couldn't honestly think Laurent would just forget about that. But just as Laurent had suspected, Damianos obviously thought there was no way Laurent would want to hurt his own soulmate, no matter who that soulmate was or what he'd done in the past. His soulmate was supposed to be the most important person in Laurent's life, after all. And hurting him would only hurt Laurent in turn. Most people cared about such things.

That was a pain Laurent would just have to accept. As he would accept the war that would probably rage afterwards, assuming he successfully avoided being executed or cut down in retaliation by Damianos's guards and lived long enough to see the political consequences unfold.

And if he didn't… Laurent would accept that as well. For Auguste.

Because now that he was finally about to be officially old enough for the Ceremony, which was the perfect opportunity, Laurent couldn't imagine how he could continue on for much longer knowing that Damianos of Akielos, Prince-killer, the one person on the planet that was apparently best suited to Laurent despite everything, still breathed and laughed and went about his life like the world hadn't ended four years ago.

Laurent would do whatever it took to fix that.

*

The Akielons arrived just one day before Laurent's nameday. Obviously, they were hoping to spend as little time as possible on Veretian soil before finding out that it was all just some ruse or misunderstanding; that their own Prince wasn't actually supposed to be bonded together for life to the Veretian Prince. Too bad for them it wouldn't play out that way. Damianos clearly knew it as well, for he showed no sign that he thought Laurent might be playing him. It probably hadn't even occurred to him that Laurent might not even be his soulmate. He could have just had Damianos's soulmate captive, and used the link to trick him.

Laurent wished that was how things had really stood. It would have been simpler.

When Laurent first saw Damianos in the flesh, his immediate thought was about how lucky he was not to have to rely on besting this man in single combat, as Auguste had tried to do. Damianos was massive. He could probably crush Laurent's skull between his bicep and forearm if he but flexed a little, Laurent thought. And he'd heard the Akielons loved their wrestling, so there might have actually been a threat of that, under other circumstances. And Damianos was also apparently well-versed with a sword, as well. So was Laurent, after countless hours training with a blade to make sure he would be quick and precise enough to strike when the moment came, and to make sure that he wouldn't be defenceless and useless if he lived to see war being waged with Akielos once more. But against _that_ , Laurent couldn't have been anything close to sure of his success in an outright fight. 

Even knowing that, Laurent still would have tried to fight Damianos nonetheless, if that had been the only avenue open to him. Anything to avenge Auguste, and to take retribution on his own behalf as well. But thankfully Laurent had a much better method at his disposal.

When Damianos first saw Laurent, a smile spread across his face, bright and effusive. Laurent felt thoroughly taken aback for a moment. He could recall exactly when he'd last seen a similar smile, though admittedly without the accompanying dimple. In a court usually filled with barely quirking lips and hard, calculating eyes, Auguste's moments of happiness had been a ray of intense light to match his starburst banners. Damianos's smile was much like the one Auguste always had worn when _he_ looked at Laurent, though admittedly there was a different kind of interest lurking behind it than anything Auguste would ever have directed at Laurent. 

Laurent had often thought to directly compare his soulmate to Auguste before he'd suspected who it was. But it wasn't a comparison he'd wished to draw since, unless it was in a way that showed Damianos to be inferior in every way. This wasn't ideal.

But he would ignore it.

It was clear that Damianos, for his part, had no intention of ignoring anything positive he thought he saw in Laurent. He clearly liked the visual that was presented before him. Since Laurent's voice had broken and he'd gained a few inches a few years ago, suddenly most everyone had liked what they saw, it seemed. That was, of course, until Laurent opened his mouth and inevitably drove them off. He wouldn't have to worry about that this time, though. Laurent could pretend to be sweet and malleable the way he just bet Damianos preferred for a day or so, until after the Ceremony and the celebrations passed and Laurent could have his chanc3. Damianos wouldn't have time to realise the truth of Laurent's attitude and be put off by it. Laurent would make sure of that.

Laurent approached Damianos. The way the flat side of the knife hidden in his boot shifted against his leg as he walked forward to meet his enemy face-to-face was enough of a reminder of what would come soon enough to allow Laurent to manage a real smile of his own for the first time in years. Not that Laurent intended to use that knife today, but he liked to be prepared, just in case.

Once he was close enough, Laurent extended his hand in greeting. He blinked when, instead of shaking it or even clasping arms in what Laurent understood to be the Akielon manner of greeting – which was why the knife was in his boot rather than locked in place beneath the tightly-woven laces of his sleeve – Damianos raised Laurent's hand up and kissed his knuckles in some horrifically misplaced attempt at courting. Laurent considered balling his hand into a fist and punching that mouth. He restrained himself. Though he would have preferred the pain that would have left in his knuckles over the unwanted leftover tingle of Damianos's lips.

"Prince Laurent," Damianos greeted. His tone was formal. His face, though, spoke of something too open and casual to come close to proper decorum.

Laurent mimicked a little of both in his reply. The formality was easy enough. The eagerness too, considering that Laurent was feeling exactly that, if for far different reasons than Damianos himself. Laurent had grown quite practised at channelling his emotions over the past few years. Who better to use that ability against than the man who had made it so very necessary for him to adapt himself and hide what he was really feeling in favour of what he wanted others to see?

"I hope your arm is alright," Damianos said. "I wish you hadn't had to hurt yourself just to prove your point, but my father the King thought you might be mistaken."

Mistaken? He'd thought Laurent had been lying, more to the point. And Laurent would stake all his holdings in Varenne and Marches that Damianos had thought much the same. Laurent wished he really had been mistaken or lying. He wished this savage wasn't anything to him but a distant enemy; a target to be destroyed. But then Damianos wouldn't have reason to be here, finally within Laurent's reach. 

It would be worth it, Laurent supposed. It had to be.

Laurent said flippantly, "It was barely a scratch."

"It didn't feel that way to me. I've rarely felt more than tiny amounts of pain from you, so you can't have been used to it."

Rarely, he said. Not never. Laurent couldn't stop his thoughts from sliding to a few nights spent curled up, trying to find some comfortable position and wishing sleep would come. He had wondered at the time whether his soulmate had felt any of that. It hadn't occurred to him to wonder again once he'd known that soulmate was Damianos. Perhaps Damianos had suffered that indignity alongside Laurent to some extent. But at the same time, that would surely mean that he knew all the ways Laurent had been hurt, or at least all the physical ways. Laurent could hardly bear the idea of _him_ , of all people, knowing or at least suspecting what Laurent would have preferred to remain concealed from the whole world.

Just one more reason to kill him, and soon. 

"You've had worse, though," pointed out Laurent. "And I have as well, by extension."

It would do no good to let his eyes fall accusingly on the scant material of the ridiculously revealing Akielon clothing that just barely covered what must have formed a scar in Damianos's shoulder. Not if Laurent didn't want to put Damianos on the defensive by reminding him just how much reason Laurent had to want him to suffer. Instead, Laurent's gaze flicked pointedly downwards to the place around the end of Damianos's ribs, where a second scar was surely housed.

"I'm sorry," Damianos said. 

Laurent had to literally bite his tongue to keep from saying anything to that. As if two words that probably weren't even genuine could change anything. But Damianos wasn't even apologising for Auguste, it seemed, for he added, "I wish you hadn't had to feel that back then. You would have been so young then. Eight?"

"Seven," Laurent corrected. Anger that lurked beneath, but Laurent pressed it further down so that it didn't show. Laurent didn't want his apologies at all, of course, but if Damianos thought he should offer one, Laurent couldn't believe he dared to save his regrets for some fleeting pain that he'd visited upon Laurent as a child rather than for the things that actually mattered.

Laurent stepped backwards, letting his hand fall free finally of Damianos's, for it was better that he not be in arms' reach just then. He didn't quite trust himself. 

Not yet, where everyone could see, Laurent reminded himself. Laurent would give up his own life or freedom to take Damianos's if he absolutely had to, but he would do what he could to make sure that wouldn't be necessary. Once they were officially confirmed as soulmates, and Laurent had further lulled Damianos into complacency with fake smiles and distasteful flirtations, it would be easy enough to convince Damianos to take him somewhere private, away from even their respective guards, so there would be no intervention and no witnesses. Simple enough, then, to claim Damianos had made the first move and Laurent had only defended himself.

The Akielons wouldn't believe it, and Theomedes would make a declaration against Vere when he learned of it, but Laurent wasn't opposed to a war with Akielos. That would have to come one way or another eventually. And no one from would _really_ believe it either, obviously, but nor would they be able to disprove Laurent's account without any other living sources of eye-witness testimony. Surely not even the Regent could officially accuse the Crown Prince of murder without fairly solid evidence that that was what had really occurred. It should be possible to come out of this with Laurent taking no more than a manageable political hit born of unproven suspicions, if only Laurent could exercise some patience and play his cards right. 

He'd been persevered for over four years. Another day would make little difference. It was hard to recall that, though, with Damianos right in front of him. His proximity alone stripped layers from Laurent, leaving him feeling raw and desperate to rid himself of the noxious sensation of willingly allowing his brother's killer within touching distance of him. It was going to get worse than that before it was over, Laurent reminded himself. He would have to tolerate it.

Damianos would barely leave Laurent's side all that first evening, intent on learning all that he could about Laurent, as if Laurent would tell him anything true. Even if he had, Damianos would never have the opportunity to do anything with the information anyway. 

Damianos was even seated beside Laurent at dinner that night, obviously courtesy of Uncle's dark sense of humour. He must have been enjoying watching Laurent suffer through this, especially knowing that Laurent had brought it about himself and therefore had no one but himself to blame for it. Laurent wondered what Uncle thought of the possibility that Damianos and Laurent were soulmates. He'd given nothing of his reaction away since the declaration that Damianos would be present for Laurent's Ceremony, even though the court had quickly drawn (for once correct) conclusions from that. Uncle had probably realised who Laurent's soulmate was around the same time Laurent had, if not before. Perhaps he'd known even back then that this day would come and had decided to let it play out, or even help it along. Uncle didn't seem interested in stopping Laurent now, or even commenting on what he must have realised Laurent was planning. Perhaps he wanted Damianos dead nearly as much as Laurent did and was happy for Laurent to bring it about while he maintained plausible deniability himself. Or perhaps he hoped Laurent would be too impulsive and invite the judgment of the Council.

For once, Laurent couldn't care what Uncle intended. He had better concerns, for now.

*

The reaction when Damianos ascended the dais as the Crown Prince of Vere's confirmed soulmate after Laurent publicly sliced into his own was mixed. A successful Ceremony, especially featuring royalty, was supposed to be due cause for a days-long celebration full of merriment, drinking and abandon. The drinking did still happen, but it was more to drown their sorrows than anything, Laurent thought. The Veretian people couldn't bring themselves to be glad that their future King had found his match in any Akielon, let alone specifically the man who had killed their previous (more beloved) Crown Prince. 

As a result, the party afterwards didn't stretch endlessly. Laurent was thankful for that. The sooner he could have his excuse to make his move, the better. His patience was wearing thin. Damianos was just being so unbearable, with his _muscles_ and his disarming smiles and his stories about his obviously much-loved homeland. As if Laurent wanted to hear about sun-drenched baths and warm seas when Laurent knew it was a land also full of blood-thirsty savages just like the one right in front of him. Though Damianos insisted on pretending he was cultured, including speaking almost perfect Veretian where Laurent's understanding of Akielon was barely functional. Laurent would have liked to have thought that Damianos was pointedly rubbing Laurent's nose in his own comparative deficiencies, but he was just so _earnest_ that it was impossible to believe it.

Laurent couldn't deal with it, honestly.

Laurent was the one who stood first, but Damianos was the one who took the initiative to reach out and grasp Laurent's arm. All the better, for that allowed Laurent to make a show of looking uncomfortable with Damianos taking such a liberty and allowing it only hesitantly. That would make it possible to claim later that Laurent hadn't intended to give some whole-hearted blanket permission for Damianos to do as he pleased.

Damianos clearly picked up on it, and seemed ready to drop his hold. Laurent wasn't sure that he wanted to think too hard about the possibility that that meant that Damianos might have been inclined to take into account whether Laurent actually wanted it or not rather than forcing his own will on Laurent, because that didn't jive with everything that Laurent had ever assumed or told himself about Damianos over the past several years. Instead of addressing that, Laurent subtly shifted his body language, hopefully so that the courtiers watching on wouldn't notice but so Damianos would be reassured that his touch (supposedly) wasn't unwanted. It must have worked, for Damianos didn't move away. Though he did drop his hand downwards to intertwine their fingers rather than just holding Laurent's arm. Laurent forced himself not to hold his hand stiffly, unresponsive.

Laurent let himself be led down towards the hallway full of guest quarters that Damianos and his retinue had been issued on their arrival. Laurent keenly felt the presence of the blade tucked once more into his boot, ready to be pulled the moment he was certain Damianos couldn't defend against it. He had thought to tuck it into his waistband, but he hadn't been sure that Damianos wouldn't take liberties, sliding his hand down Laurent's back. Nor was he sure that this wouldn't require the removal of his trousers. His boot might also have to come off, but at least in that case Laurent could more easily prevent Damianos from seeing the blade, especially if he was careful. 

How far would Laurent have to go, he wondered, not for the first time. Could he catch Damianos by surprise the moment they were alone together in Damianos's private rooms? Or would Laurent have to seduce him first, to make sure the last thing on Damianos's mind was protecting himself? Would Laurent have to exhaust him, even, and catch him when he was finally slumbering, just to be absolutely certain? 

The idea of it burned at him from the inside, much like the sting of bile in his throat. If that was what it took, though, then Laurent would do it. He would have to, no matter how much he might hate himself afterwards for allowing it. It wasn't like he wasn't already experienced in such things. And there was no question of how far he would go to get what he wanted, and to make sure Damianos got what he deserved: as far as he had to.

When they reached Damianos's door, Laurent expected to be tugged inside and dumped onto the bed to be ravaged. Instead, Damianos paused in the threshold of the door he'd just pushed open.

"I want to court you properly," Damianos claimed.

Laurent blinked. He wanted to what?

"I know that there's a lot of difficult history between us."

That was an understatement. 

"And I know that you're not happy about this." 

Did he know that? That was more perceptive than Laurent had given him credit for since his arrival in Arles, considering that Laurent had been attempting to give off an air of being unbothered by it. It was more perceptive than Laurent was comfortable with him being, as well. That might put a crick in his plans for the evening.

"Finding out that you're tied to me like this must be confusing and hard to reconcile. And there's no hurry for you to reach that point. I want you to be comfortable with it first. We're soulmates. We have a lifetime to be together."

Yes, Laurent acknowledged silently. Damianos's lifetime, to be exact. Which wouldn't last much longer.

"I want to do whatever I can to prove myself to you. I'll wait as long as it takes until you're ready."

There was nothing Damianos could do to manage that. Laurent already had all the proof he needed about who Damianos was, and what he was capable of. He had no need or desire to learn more.

"What if I don't want to wait?" Laurent forced himself to say.

His hand felt strange where he ran it down Damianos's chest. He told himself it was a burning sensation.

He mentally substituted that burn for the warm glow of the prospect of it eventually being his knife handle - a solid weight and a promise of action - rather than Damianos's chiton that would be pressed against Laurent's palm. 

It wouldn't just hurt Damianos when it plunged in. Laurent would feel it too. But that would be a finite pain, and therefore would be able to be endured. Then, after the long minutes of pain Damianos would hopefully have to experience while he bled out – the same kind of stretch as Auguste had surely had to suffer through, thanks to Damianos – the much more extensive pain of a wound that had been festering, infected, for years would finally end. It was a fair exchange, in Laurent's opinion.

"Laurent," Damianos said, almost a whisper, as Laurent grasped a handful of his chiton and pulled him determinedly downwards. 

"Shh," Laurent said, and then pressed their lips together so that Damianos really was mostly silenced. Laurent would similarly catch his shout of alarm before anyone could hear it, when the time came.

For all his experience in other things, Laurent had never kissed anyone before. It wasn't what he'd been expecting. He tried not to think about how gently Damianos cupped his jaw, and focused instead on pushing Damianos to move backwards through the open door, out of sight of any guards that might think to come after them or anyone else who might stumble across this hall. 

He let the door fall shut behind them, and even took a moment to lock it.

And then he waited for his perfect chance.

*

It hurt more than Laurent had expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope this suited you, asuraaa. It did fit a lot of your listed likes/prompts, but it's not exactly heavy on the Laurent/Damen shipping. I mean, they're soulmates and there are certain implications around the end of the fic, but on the other hand… murder?


End file.
